Marijuana Minute
by purplerawr
Summary: The night Brian did things he had never dared to before, all in one long minute. Brian/Bender.


**Marijuana Minute**

**Author: purplerawr**

**Pairing: Brian/Bender**

**Warnings: Drug use, explicit sexual scenes, angst, a hint of PWP.**

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Brian had just been walking out of school at 7 'o clock in the evening, the late hour due to his having dutifully attended both his Physics and Advanced Mathematics clubs, when someone had grabbed his shoulder, wrenched him off the pavement and into the bushes. He had experienced a hard awakening from his tired train of thought in that first moment, abject terror in the second and then an undeniable thrill of excitement in the third. Nothing as interesting as being hauled into bushes happened to safe little nerds like Brian on a daily basis, after all.

All of this died down into simple confusion when he found Bender standing in front of him. What on earth could John Bender be doing near the school at a time when attending wasn't compulsory? Half the time he didn't even bother turning up when he needed to. Why now?

"Wh-" Brian began, trying to string together his many internal questions into one external one, but Bender jumped in before he could say anything.

"Let's go somewhere." He said, as if that was everything the situation needed in way of conversation, before dragging Brian quickly through the rolling grass of the bank, over a different road and then along a pavement that seemed to be never-ending. In exactly the opposite direction to Brian's warm, safe home which he needed to arrive at on time to avoid his mother's cold wrath.

"B-Bender, hold up!" He tried, but evidently Bender was having none of it. He stopped by a beat-up looking old red van and let go of Brian, who rested his hands on his knees as he wheezed. By now he could have been at home and taking his needed second dose of his inhaler. He regained himself enough to choke out, "What are we doing?"

"What does it look like?" Bender answered with a question in his caustic, sarcastic way, and glowered at Brian before opening one door of the van. "Get in." He sloped around to the driver's side and jumped into it, glared again. "Come _on_."

His tone brooked no argument and Brian was admittedly quite scared of everything that was John Bender, from the stern, challenging hook of his nose to the muddy, face-crunching soles of his scuffed, black boots. He scrambled in, feeling each and every lump in the battered old seat he perched on, and shut the shuddering van door. Everything felt terribly close and personal with the two of them in that old, little space.

Bender soon dispelled the oddly compelling silence by jamming the key into the ignition. The engine roared and stuttered into undeniable life and they were off, teetering from one side of the road to another as Bender drove in the way he lived his life, with reckless abandon and strangely attractive swagger. Despite his initial fear, the anticipation of whatever was coming, for with Bender something was always coming, was tantalising. He just hoped he wouldn't end up dead.

"Where are we going?" He asked hopefully, groping behind him for a seatbelt before realising that there wasn't one. He hadn't really expected an answer, so the moody shrug he received wasn't all that shocking. "Okay then."

In the conversation lull Brian cast his thoughts back to that Saturday detention two months ago that had in some way seemed fated, though after a week he had dispelled such feelings as stupid. Claire had ignored him when he had tried to smile at her, Andy had nodded shortly and self-consciously before striding away with the other jocks, Allison was hardly anywhere to be seen and Bender, well, this was the first time he had spoken to Bender since the detention.

He had accepted that their bond as a group was never meant to last, had meekly scuttled back to his studious life and begun to once again indulge in thoughts of guns pushed up against his cranium in moments of despair. This situation, however, had thrown things out of kilter. Driving off into the middle of nowhere in a rusty old van was not an activity that most acquaintances took part in, though Brian didn't know what sort of acquaintances Bender kept. Beyond his straight-laced, straight A grade friends at school Brian didn't even really know how friendship worked for most people.

Eventually Bender slammed on the break and Brian nearly fell off his seat as the van came to an ungraceful stop in the middle of an empty car lot next to a small park. Brian had no idea where they were, for he had never been one for wandering around their dull little town of Shermer and knew the way best from studying at school to studying at his bedroom desk. He wasn't even sure if he could find his way back anywhere from here.

They lapsed into silence as soon as the engine died down and the van's final breaths chattered away. Brian could feel the quiet burrowing its way through his skin. He had no idea what to do, what to say, so shifted uncomfortably in his seat and waited for what was coming.

"My dad is dead," Bender said with no emotion at all. Brian thought fleetingly that maybe he was talking in the future tense, like his dad had done something to piss him off and Bender was going to get his revenge later, but his eyes told a different story as they showed the raw, vulnerable emotion of a wild grief that scared the crap out of Brian. It was like the pain spilt into the very air as Bender let out an inhuman scream and slammed both fists against the dashboard with all the strength he had.

Brian watched as, in the slow motion of terrifying things, the van ended up with two more sizeable dents and the alarm started wailing out into the dusky evening. Bender's knuckles started to bleed with the first punch, but then he just kept going and going. Brian had no idea what to do - it felt like his brain had just been plunged into ice and his thoughts had been frozen. A part of him thought that he should reach out and stop those tense arms before Bender did himself far too much damage, but in truth he was too afraid to move. He let Bender punch it out, whatever he was going through, which took a very long time.

Bender hit the dash one last time before collapsing backwards into a slump, knuckles bleeding profusely. Seeing that the danger was over, Brian forced himself into motion again.

"Hey," he said softly, like he did to his little sister when she fell over once and scraped her knee, "I have a - I have some band aids in my bag..." he busied himself rummaging through his bag for them, glad to have something else to do other than stare at Bender in morbid fascination as he continued to bleed and stare into space.

Finding them, he hesitated for a few moments before gently taking one of Bender's hands. Seeing that Bender didn't take offence to that, he brought it closer to him and surveyed the newly open welts which covered the old, faded ones in seething red. Using his water bottle to clean off the blood, apologizing profusely even though Bender did little more than occasionally blink, he sussed out where all the little cuts were and covered them. He then repeated the gesture with the other hand, busying himself in the menial work and trying to forget whose hand he was holding.

After that he risked a nervous glance up at Bender, who was now openly and unabashedly staring right at him. Feeling his ears begin to burn as they always did when he got embarrassed, which was frequently, he looked away and cleared his throat. He could still feel Bender staring at him, in a way he had hardly experienced in a lifetime of being so used to people ignoring him, and it felt like two lasers burning into his face.

"You want to know how he died?" Bender asked, voice low and just a bit dangerous, and Brian nodded, enticed. "Alcohol poisoning. All the whiskey finally got to his cold, dead heart through his cold, dead liver. He thought he was immune, but his body was biding its sweet time until it got revenge on all the shit he put it through. I found him yesterday, I knew he was dead because for once he looked fucking _peaceful_." Bender's voice began to rise then in loudening tremors and his face was beginning to screw up like skin-coloured paper.

"All those times I wanted to turn around and fight him back and I never fucking did. Not _once_. I was too much of a fucking _coward_. Fucking -!" He turned away and made as if to punch the dash again, but this time Brian stopped him, wrestling his arm back with everything his scrawny body had. He tried to tell himself it was so as not to ruin the band-aids he had so meticulously applied. He felt a stab of fear as Bender faced him again, expecting the next punch to be directed at his face, but then Bender's features softened to nothing and he just _stared_ again.

Brian couldn't think of anything to say, so he just stared back. Not being used to the liberty of staring so openly at someone, he drank in every feature of the face in front of him. The first thing you noticed about John Bender was his eyes - they were the smooth colour of melted chocolate and, in an intriguing way, managed to look hard and vulnerable at the same time. Brian wondered what they had looked like in innocence, before Bender had learnt such drastic defences against what life threw at him.

He wondered what that hard mouth would look like in real, genuine laughter. Or how they would come apart and soften if somebody kissed them. He wondered, with a feeling he wasn't about to begin to identify, how well Claire knew that.

He had known for a while he was attracted to men, and tried to hide and bury it along with every other thing his mother would call a "dark, selfish impulse that must never be followed" down to the recesses of his mind. He tried to convince himself that he liked girls. Yet every now and then, when he noticed some inane yet attractive nuance of another boy near him, or a boy said something witty, or a boy came within smelling distance and he would smell a particular scent, desire would bloom up inside him like a forbidden flower and would grow and grow unless he reminded himself of his mother's stern, foreboding face.

This was one of those moments and, with the object of the feeling so close, it was hard to even summon the sound of his mother's shrill voice into his head. All he could think about was the way Bender was staring at him, the way he smelt (like the dirt of his boots and the smoke on his clothes and something distinctly Bender that he had never smelt anywhere else) and the way his chest moved slowly now when he breathed.

"Want a joint?" Bender spoke, the words sounded distant and almost didn't carry meaning, but Brian slid out a breathy "Okay," through his lips. After a lingering look Bender reached into the pocket of his jacket and got all the necessary supplies. Brian took in the familiar sight as he rolled the joint methodically with nimble fingers and grabbed a lighter, lit up, chucked the lighter back where it belonged on the floor.

He took a drag and seemed pretty much unaffected apart from a brief closing of the eyes. Brian, thinking about the inhaler in the bathroom waiting for him like a little sentient handgun that would shoot him if he forgot it, brought the joint to his lips, inhaled and then coughed manically as his throat channelled his mother and protested against such foul and rebellious activities.

They spent a while doing that, passing the joint back and forth, Brian beginning to feel like the stars starting to dot the sky were just figments of his imagination. Surely he had only been here with Bender for five minutes? Or was it five hours?

Bender then suggested that they go outside, the smoke was beginning to cloud the windscreen, and Brian readily agreed, nearly toppling over when he jumped out of the van but clung onto the door handle. He was led to the park, now dark and silent as Bender's tall silhouette, and they sat up against a stone wall. The smooth grass was a welcoming change from the lumpy seat, but after a few more drags Brian could hardly feel where he was, let alone appreciate the comfort.

Brian giggled suddenly, at an inner joke he promptly forgot, and Bender blinked and looked at him as if he'd just appeared out of thin air.

"How long have we been here?" Brian asked, voice louder and bolder than it usually was, in-between sucking giant swoops of breath into his neglected lungs. "Feels like days."

"Definitely not days," Bender commented, sounding less angry than he had before, and the way he enunciated the d's pierced into Brian's brain like a pair of chopsticks. Brian imagined, in a fevered way, somebody plucking his brain clean out, like a sticky clump of rice, and fought laughter again.

"Now that's what you call a marijuana minute," Bender said to nobody in particular, his own brain roiling in some quiet and practised way, "I think you've had too much little kite. Wouldn't want you getting any higher or you'll fly away."

Brian would have expected those words to be a product of the weed, silly as they were, but Bender's sudden wistful tone made them sound more serious than that. Brian had never heard John Bender sound wistful like that before.

"What are you... thinking about?" he asked, tongue twisting and bloating, stumbling over words. Nervous little Brian the Brain was inside of him, trying to claw his way out as Brian was trying to pay attention to what Bender was saying.

"My father," Bender replied distantly. His eyes looked a part of the past. "He used to say that when I was a kid, if I got too excited. Back when he cared. Back when he wasn't a twisted little son of a bitch."

Brian couldn't say anything productive to that. Usually he hated not having the answer to something, but when it came to this the answer was Bender's alone. Perhaps there wasn't an answer any more.

Bender's eyes, two deep pits of mulling brown, snapped back to their usual half-focus. He lifted the joint slowly to his lips between two of those deft fingers, slid it in and took a deep, throaty drag. Brian watched him with an intensity that hurt his eyes - a dropped pin would have made his skull reverberate with the noise.

"Pass me the joint," he said, for the idea of touching where those lips had been more than anything else. He wondered for the umpteenth time whether he should be banishing thoughts like that, but was still too high to let anything bring him down. So he occasionally (more than occasionally) appreciated male beauty - so what?

"No way," Bender said, usual façade of smug cockiness restored in a heartbeat, "I told you you've had enough."

Brian sighed, feeling the breath escape into the night air with all the weight on his life. "But it makes me feel so free." Like he had never been before, not truly.

Bender made a noise that could have been of amusement. "There's a difference between feeling free and going out of control."

"Which one are you?" Brian asked.

Bender grimaced. "Always one, always the other."

"Seriously," Brian said, "just one more drag." Feeling bolder, still on a high from the remaining weed in his system and something else, he tried to grab Bender's wrist to get the joint out of one bandaged hand. Bender was soon wise to him though and grabbed his arm in time. Brian tried with his spare hand but Bender lifted the crucial arm above their heads so that Brian could only flail for it.

Brian leant forward and up then, not sure how much of his actions were for the joint and how much just to press himself up against Bender's warm body. He fumbled his fingers up the wall and along it to Bender's hand, grazed against his palm and then tried to grab for it. Bender, who had been distracted momentarily, veered his arm to the side and accidentally dropped the joint on the ground. It rolled and stopped a short distance away on the gravel path, smoke still curling upwards from one end.

Brian expected Bender to curse or even hit him the way he had hit the dashboard. He started to clear some space between them, remembering Bender's frightening rage, an apology already on his tongue. However, his movement caused their crotches to rub together and a body-shuddering jolt of desire made a beeline for his already swelling groin. Judging by his razor sharp intake of breath, Bender must have felt an answering reaction to their passing of luscious friction.

"You know," Bender whispered and the words roared in Brian's ears, "there are two things I do when I'm in a really bad mood."

"Yeah?" Brian's own voice barely made a sound.

"Yeah. Firstly, I get high. And secondly..."

"Yeah?" Brian's voice cracked.

"Secondly, I fuck someone."

Bender then brought both hands to Brian's head, quickly carded his fingers through the sandy hair and wrenched him forward until their lips met in a desperate kiss. If it tasted of anything it was probably old smoke and weed, but Brian's senses were too busy being completely overloaded by lust whenever Bender's lips or hands moved even by a fraction, which was often.

As uncontrollable and detached as his body felt just then, he could not stop the moan that leaked through him and melded into the kiss and this just encouraged Bender further, his tongue seeking out similar company, demanding it, coaxing and teasing and lashing until Brian's mouth felt sore with warm saliva against cold night air.

Bender was quick and rough, and what they were doing certainly wasn't romantic, but somehow that made it more enjoyable - this kiss was far better than any Brian could have imagined from some simpering girl or even a boy from one of his clubs, it was wild and dangerous and everything he'd never experienced before but feverishly and yearningly dreamed of.

As desperate as Bender seemed for the contact, warmth and coarse intimacy, Brian leaned upwards again, then down, up, down, rubbing their bodies together and creating even more of the friction they both craved. Bender responded in leaps and bounds, not stopping for anything, soon bringing his hand to the zipper of Brian's jeans and divesting his throbbing erection of all its barriers and taking it into his hand.

Bender began to rub then, up and down, rhythmically like the palpitations of a frantic heart, and Brian thought he was going to lose his mind with the sensation of it. This was the first time in his life where he didn't have to think, could just lose himself in wonderful feeling and not experience guilt or despair or the cold rage he never dared to express.

It was not long until he came to orgasm, eyes squeezing shut and lips pulling back over his teeth as he screamed out and covered Bender's hand with himself. He collapsed on Bender then, mind spaced out and stretching a universe, and breathed fiercely into his neck. After a few minutes of just laying there he lifted himself up as much as he could manage, this time initiated the staring.

"You - you haven't fucked me yet." He said boldly, gulping down a dry throat as he imagined what that would be like.

"No, I haven't," Bender said, the strain of desire evident in his voice, "Do you want me to?"

"God, yes," Brian spluttered, not caring how stupid or desperate he sounded, because he knew both of them wanted it, "f-fuck me." He was getting hard again already.

"Okay," Bender said, eyes intent and slightly awed as he pulled Brian's trousers down further, then his boxers, then undid his own zip. Brian could not take his eyes away from the exposed skin and dark curls he saw there once Bender had undressed himself. "I've never done this with a guy before," Bender then admitted, sounding for the first time apprehensive.

Brian hadn't either, but he had a rough idea about how it worked from a weird boy in his Biology club who was forever raving on about every kind of sex there was. He spat on his hand and then, faintly shaking with anticipation, brought it down to Bender's erection, covering it gently with his own saliva as he slowly moved his hand. Bender's breath hitched as he watched, mesmerized by the concentration on Brian's face.

Deeming Bender covered, Brian reluctantly took his hand away. For him this night had been a string of firsts - his first time missing curfew, his first kiss, his first time touching another man in such a personal way. He didn't want any of it to stop; yet there was another first to come.

"Wait," Bender said, "You'd better lie down."

"Yeah," Brian agreed, "of course." Bender took him then, putting his hands on Brian's back, and lowered him to the soft grass in a surprisingly gentle way. He then took off Brian's shoes, his socks, his jeans and boxers and laid them all to one side. He spat on his hand and slicked himself up again, just for good measure.

"Ready?" He whispered. The night air was made of electricity as Brian nodded and Bender shifted, caused static, and aligned their hyper-aware bodies together. Then, as lust took over once again, Bender pushed inside and it was like being hit by a thousand volts as Brian felt an intoxication of pleasure and pain.

"Oh..." Brian whimpered this time as Bender moved minutely at first, then more confidently, burrowing inside to a place where Brian had let nobody go before. They rocked together, finding a rhythm that was constantly changing, slowing and speeding, with the subtle and unspoken undulations of need. Brian found that with time the pain lessened but the pleasure increased as they both built up to completion.

Bender was surprisingly silent for the most of it until he stiffened and came with a low, growl of a groan, which was mostly blocked out when Brian came himself and he could only hear pleasure alight in his ears. It was Bender's turn to collapse back down to Earth this time, pulling out of Brian and laying beside him on the grass, spread-eagled, the sound of their breaths the only noise for miles.

Brian noticed after a long while that it was pitch-black, he was completely sober again and he still had no idea where he was. "How long have we been out here?"

"A long fucking marijuana minute," Bender replied with a bark of laughter. Brian sat up, noticing keenly now his nudity and again the way Bender's eyes would rove over him. He dressed himself, pulling clothes over sticky and slightly sore skin, and swallowed, feeling dizzy even by the memories of what they had just done.

He was not sure how much of the whole thing had been Bender's desire for sex with Brian and how much Bender's desire to forget his grief in the blinding light of orgasm, but either way he carried no regrets.

Exciting things like staying out all night smoking weed and having sex did not happen to safe little nerds like Brian on a daily basis, after all.

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**A/N: So I've been on a Breakfast Club kick lately, and noticed how little slash fan fiction there was for it! Terrible! So I've written my own for any other poor souls who go out looking for it on the big bad internet. Tell me what you think? **

**p.s. I found the term 'marijuana minute' on urbandictionary - **"**A seemingly long period of time. It occurs most often when under the influence of marijuana due to the altered state of mind. An actually short moment may seem to drag on forever." It caused this story to pop into my head.**

**p.p.s. I don't know why I gave Brian a bit of a lisp. He's just a nervous dude.  
**


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